


The Hunting Party

by Wardown



Series: Storm from the East [2]
Category: a game of thrones - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wardown/pseuds/Wardown
Summary: 1. "Winter forage" was an unkind term used for women aged 30 in medieval England. Thirty would in fact still be quite a marriageable age, even though most noblewomen would be married off in their teens. Isabella, the daughter of Edward III, refused to marry until she was 33.2. A Star is the lowest denomination coin in Westeros.3. Regarding Margaery's reputation, widows are given a leeway which is denied maidens or married women.
Relationships: Daenerys/Jon Snow (referred), Ned Dayne/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Storm from the East [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793101
Comments: 118
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Margaery clamped her hand over her mouth, to avoid crying out, as the gorgeous young lord of Starfall, Ned Dayne, took her on the floor of the forest clearing. "Marry me" he said, for the hundredth time, as she recovered her breath. 

"What do you see in an old hag like me?" she asked coyly. "I'm "winter forage", now". He was ten years her junior. She thought guiltily, of another young man who had fallen madly in love with her. Her poor, dear, husband, sweet Tommen. She had manipulated him, before falling in love with him in turn. Their marriage had cost the poor boy his life. But, it had given her Joanna; her daughter was all that she lived for. One day, she would inherit Storms End. 

"Rubbish. You're only thirty. You're a beautiful woman." Well, that was nice to hear. She had a handful of grey hairs, but she did take care of herself. She bathed in scented water each morning, and used a variety of cosmetics to keep her skin soft. Even as a prisoner, life had its compensations. 

"An attainted traitor, without a Star to her name, whose life hangs by a thread. You could do a lot better for yourself. What if the Queen changes her mind, and decides the world would be a better place without me?" She pulled up her leather breeches. 

"She won't. She's not the type to break her word to you. As to the rest, the lands of Starfall are quite enough for us both." 

"Perhaps. But, you know very well, that I can never set foot in Dorne. Even if the Queen permitted me to move there, Ellaria Sand would not. Rather, she would, and she has very ........special plans in mind for me." Rape, torture, burning, as far she knew. And, Ellaria was very eager to take part in the rape and torture. Her friend, Gwyneth Yronwood, had warned her of this, years ago. She was uncomfortably aware that Storms End was not all that far from Dorne, though well-guarded. Lord Selwyn was as much her gaoler as Joanna's guardian, but he was a fair-minded man, and would never hand her over to the Sand; she found it impossible to regard her as a Martell. She still had bad dreams about mounting the scaffold, though. 

Ned grinned nastily. "Who says Ellaria will be around forever?" Now, that was interesting. She was aware that there was widespread discontent with the woman in Dorne. They both stood up, and picked up their boar spears. Ned reached over, to brush grass and leaves out of her hair. They were hunting in the Kingswood with Lord Selwyn and other notables. She had the Queen's permission to accompany them.

After a few minutes, they caught up with Ned's servants, and the other hunters, led by Lord Selwyn. A few of them smirked at her, guessing what had taken place between them. A wild barking broke out, as the boarhounds picked up a scent, and plunged into thick forest. Margaery followed cautiously, holding her spear before her. She was experienced at this. "Careful now, all of you" warned Lord Selwyn. His huntsmen began stringing nets between the trees, to block their prey's escape. She had to tread with care here. A root or bramble could send her tumbling. No one spoke now, concentrating on what they were doing. After all, King Robert himself had died, hunting a boar. There was a sudden excited baying, a short distance away, followed by a high-pitched scream; one of the hounds must have been gored. She heard a crashing in the undergrowth and tensed. Then the great beast tore out of the undergrowth, making straight for her; a ferocious old male, no doubt a veteran of a score of hunts. She gripped the haft of her spear with her right hand, her left holding it just below the wings, as the creature launched itself at her. She timed her thrust badly, gashing the animal's shoulder, but only wounding it superficially. The force of its charge wrenched the spear from her grasp. It turned, red-eyed and mad with fury, intending to rip her open with its razor-edged tusks. 

"Throw yourself down Margaery, lie prone!" screamed Ned. She hastened to obey, covering her head with her hands. Then the beast was on her, snorting and grunting as it rooted at her with his tusks, but unable to harm her so long as she gave him no opening. She heard footsteps and then a great ton weight as the animal crushed on top of her. Again and again, she felt the impact of the others' spears as they drove them into the boar. Then a gush of warm liquid soaked her; the animal had released his bladder as he died. She groaned as the boar was dragged off her. She sat up, feeling all over. No broken bones it seemed, but she'd be covered in bruises. Ned lent her a hand, and helped her to her feet. 

"Drenched in pig's piss" she laughed. "Still, better than I deserved for such an awful thrust." 

"We'll eat well tonight" commented Lord Selwyn, as huntsmen dragged the carcase away, to be skinned and butchered. "Brienne, give Lady Margaery a drink. She's had quite a fright." Brienne handed over a wineskin, from which Margaery drank greedily, before handing it back. Brienne looked at her, unsmiling. There was no love lost between the pair. Lord Selwyn's daughter had served Sansa in the North, and had been told of Margaery's treachery towards her. It occurred to Margaery, once again, how many people there were who would happily see her dead; how her very existence depended on the Queen's goodwill. Lord Tyrion occasionally visited Storms End, and she'd learned from him that cousin Megga had written to the Queen, more than once, recommending that Margaery be put to death, or at the very least, exiled to a remote island in the Stepstones. "She struggles to hold on to Highgarden" he had explained. "She thinks it would be easier if you were out of the picture." The Queen's Hand had assured her that Daenerys had no intention of agreeing, and that her life was safe. 

"I think you need to return to the camp" Selwyn remarked to her. This deep in the Kingswood, there was not even a hunting lodge. They camped in the open. She trudged back with Ned and his servants, stinking of boar's piss, and longing for a bath. When they reached her pavilion, the servants hurried to heat water for her. A short while later, she sighed with pleasure in the hot water, scrubbing herself clean of the filth. She looked up to see Ned grinning down at her. 

"Enjoying the view?" she enquired. 

"Planning to join you" he replied, undressing hurriedly. 

"I see you intend to ruin what's left of my reputation." 

"What reputation?" he remarked, as he climbed into the tub. "You said it yourself. "An attainted traitor without a Star to her name."

"Your servants have eyes in their buttocks, they'll gossip." 

"My people love me well. Besides, when you're the lady of Starfall, this will all be ancient history." 

"First, you have to remove the Sand woman." 

"Trust me, she's on her way out." 

"Very well. " Margaery stood up in the bath. She smiled as she saw Ned's face shine with lust. She drew his head up between her legs, shivering as she anticipated the pleasure to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Winter forage" was an unkind term used for women aged 30 in medieval England. Thirty would in fact still be quite a marriageable age, even though most noblewomen would be married off in their teens. Isabella, the daughter of Edward III, refused to marry until she was 33.
> 
> 2\. A Star is the lowest denomination coin in Westeros.
> 
> 3\. Regarding Margaery's reputation, widows are given a leeway which is denied maidens or married women.


	2. Chapter 2

Sixty miles away from the hunting party in the Kingswood, a ball was being held in the Red Keep, to celebrate the Queen's twenty seventh name day. It had amused her to command that the men dress as women, and the women as men, for the occasion.

"Gold suits you, you know. It matches the colour of your hair." She danced with Tyrion, who wore a gold silk ball gown, in honour of the occasion. She wore the scarlet uniform, with silver braid, of a guards officer. 

"Very funny. What do you think the Most Devout will be saying about this?"

"Those of them that aren't here? Well, the last but one High Septon ended his days on a pole. Devout Hallayne will preach absolute obedience to the Gods' Anointed. The rest will have the sense to keep their mouths shut."

"The people of the city then?"

"What they always have said. That I'm a whore, an abomination, and a degenerate. Worse than my father, by far. I'd hate to let them down." She was in high spirits, a bit drunk. She found it hard to keep a straight face, seeing her councillors and army officers powdered and made up. Some of them, like Lord Sunglass and Andar Royce had really entered into the spirit of the affair, wearing extravagant wigs and gowns. Many of the ladies of the Court looked devilishly attractive in military uniform. The sight was rather stimulating in fact. "Face facts" she remarked, as she twirled him around "Your Queen is a pervert."

"Do you have to advertise that fact to the world?"

"I can't remain chaste for the rest of my life. I've been discreet". She had. Occasional trysts with army officers, and handmaidens, but nothing outrageous. Until she had fallen in love with Jon Snow, that is, a couple of years ago, when visiting Winterfell, in order to discuss the coming war. To her own surprise, she had remained faithful to him. She had flown to the North half a dozen times since then, for two to three weeks at a time. She spent every night there in his bed. He despised himself for having been born a bastard. She had tried to reassure him that it was of no account; what mattered was the manner of man that he was, not who his parents were. Fidelity mattered a great deal to him. 

"There's nothing discreet about this. " Then, as if he read her thoughts, he asked "Do you think the King in the North would approve. Or Princess Sansa, for that matter?" 

"Ah, shot straight through the heart. No, Jon would not approve. The North is populated by rough, shaggy men, of antique virtue. All bluff and bluster, and hairy-chested manliness. Most of them give off a ripe odour, I can assure you. As for Sansa, well, her lovely blue eyes would be out on stalks. But, what the eye doesn't see, the heart won't grieve over." The dance came to an end, and they resumed their seats on the high table.

"I have news about Lady Margaery" Tyrion remarked to her. 

"Nothing seditious, I hope." 

"Not at all. She's been the very model of what an attainted traitor should be. Come to think of it, you ought to have invited her. She'd be in her element here." 

Daenerys was intrigued. "Tell me more." The thought of Margaery Tyrell in military uniform got her rather hot under the collar. Really, she mustn't let lust cloud her judgement. 

"Well, she "became" a maid when she married Renly Baratheon. "Not that he troubled her in the bedchamber, more fool him. Her brother was more his type. Before that, they certainly didn't call her the Rose of Highgarden back home. She had a reputation. The Tyrell Smallfolk simply nicknamed her "The Impure". Not that that damaged her popularity with them. It enhanced it really. Still, when she left Highgarden, half the young squires and stable lads were heartbroken. " 

"I had no idea the Tyrells were so interesting. You make Highgarden sound like Sunspear. So, what is this news?" 

"She has a lover. Ned Dayne, the Lord of Starfall." 

"You wanted me to marry him, I recall. " 

"He's reputed the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms. And one of the wealthiest." 

"Should I be worried about this? I did say she could remarry, with my permission." 

"I don't think you should be worried. Ellaria Martell, on the other hand....." She looked at him enquiringly. "Ellaria has made many enemies. He is one. House Yronwood is another. There are several relatives of the late Prince Doran lurking in the undergrowth. Matters are coming to a head. Intermediaries have approached me. In a roundabout way, they have enquired what your attitude would be if Dorne had a change of ruler." 

"I have no love for Ellaria. As you know, she was a party to Varys' plots, and poised to march on Kings Landing, after my death. " 

"When you sent her Varys' head, I imagine she took the hint. She has given us no trouble since then." 

"No. On the one hand, better to live with the devil you know. On the other, well, you can tell them that I have no commitment to seeing either Ellaria or her daughters in power. You've always told me that Dornish politics is a snakepit, and it's all one to me which of the snakes emerges on top. Just so long as that snake pledges fealty to me. Do you think Margaery is stirring the pot in Dorne?"

Tyrion frowned. "Honestly no. I have spoken to her at length. My spies keep her under constant surveillance. Truly, I think she is relieved to live in comfort with her daughter and Lady Elinore. If she's taken a fancy to a handsome young man, well, who can blame her?" 

"Do you think I've been cruel to her? It can't be much of a life. You know how many people have urged me to make an end of her. Every day, she must fear that I'll agree. " 

Tyrion looked astonished. "You never cease to surprise me, Daenerys. Cruel? Many of your predecessors would have executed her, some of them, quite brutally. The best of them would have confined her to the Maidenvault for the rest of her life. If they allowed her to meet her daughter, it would have been under strict supervision. She lives in comfort, with two people who love her. If she survives, she'll see her daughter become a peer of the realm. You have been more than generous." 

"That's a relief. " She smiled as the musicians began to play again. "Will you do me the honour of the next dance, dear Tyrion?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Russian Empresses, Anna, Elizabeth, and Catherine the Great, enjoyed transvestite balls. I decided that they would appeal to Daenerys too.
> 
> 2\. In the show, Margaery might as well have worn a T-Shirt saying "A maiden? LOL."


	3. Chapter 3

When they had finished, Ned and Margaery climbed out of the bath, and Ned returned to his pavilion. Marriage was not a bad idea, she thought, provided the Queen was willing to permit it. Ending Ellaria Sand was an even better idea, although she worried for Ned's safety. The woman was as vicious as a cornered pit viper. She dressed for supper, with the aid of a maidservant provided by Ned. It was not really an event she was looking forward to. Lord Selwyn was courteous enough, but Brienne detested her. The rest either pitied her, patronised her, or took a prurient interest in meeting a notorious traitor. The hunting party was her first tentative step towards rejoining aristocratic society. She wasn't sure that she wanted to do so, now. There were advantages to spending the rest of her life in comfortable obscurity, with her daughter and Elinore. But, if she wanted to marry Ned, it was something she had to get used to. 

As she left her pavilion, she saw that the boar was being spit-roasted. Servants were scurrying back and forth, bearing trays of vegetables and sweetmeats, and flagons of wine and ale. She and the other nobles would dine in Lord Selwyn's pavilion. She entered and accepted a goblet of Arbor gold. Ned was already there, talking to Lord Selwyn and Brienne. She was dressed atrociously in purple, she noted with amusement. Arstan Selmy of Harvest Hall approached her, with his wife. "My Lady" he enquired "How is your dear daughter." 

"She's well my lord, a lusty, squalling, four year old."

"As beautiful as her mother, I trust." 

"You are too kind." 

"And heiress to the whole of the Stormlands, as well. You'll have to think about betrothing her before long." She sighed inwardly. The man was transparently obvious, he had an eight year old son. 

She smiled sweetly, before commenting "The decision will be Lord Selwyn's to make. He is Joanna's legal guardian." 

"But, I'm sure he'd consult you. A mother's views must carry a great deal of weight." His wife, Minisa, an ugly red-faced woman, was obviously bursting to speak to her. She braced herself. "I grieve so much for you. It must be heartbreaking, that you can't return to Highgarden. I remember your rose gardens, and tulip beds. The arbours and groves of evergreens. It's a place of beauty. Now owned by a cousin who hates you". 

"Storms End has its compensations" she replied blandly. 

" A grim old fortress, where it never stops raining? You can't truly be happy there?" Was the woman trying to talk her into sedition? Or was she just stupid. Her next question proved she was just stupid. "Tell me, Lady Margaery, what was it like to mount a scaffold? I mean, you thought you were about to die, until you were reprieved right at the last moment? What was it like?" She saw the woman's husband scowling. 

"What was it like? It was bloody horrible. Not that I'm complaining that I was spared."

She turned away from the tactless pair. Fortunately, Ned hastened up to her. "Gods above, Ned. I'm an object of curiosity to these people. A woman whose life was as low as her birth was high, in their eyes. They probably expect the pair of us to start fucking each other in front of them. Ah, piss on them!" 

"They'd probably enjoy that" he remarked dryly. She began to giggle. "You're the only one who keeps me sane in this place. Yes, Ned, I'll marry you, if the Queen consents. " He saw his face light up, triumphant. 

"Tell no one yet. Ellaria will strike at you, the moment she learns of this," she cautioned. 

He nodded. "Ellaria will go, first." Lord Selwyn rang his spoon on his goblet, as a sign that dinner was about to be served. She sat beside Ned. The first course was served, a delicious cold soup, of tomatoes, cucumber and garlic, accompanied by a crisp white wine. 

"So when is the baby due" she asked Lady Morrigen who sat opposite, in the later stages of pregnancy. Naturally, she had not taken part in the hunt. 

"Three months, Lady Margaery. My first. How was it for you?" 

"Not easy" she remembered the way she had screamed, as she gave birth to Joanna; remembered too, her fears for her daughter's life. "But, I felt so much love when I saw her for the first time." The guests discussed their children for some time, a safe topic of conversation. They were interrupted by servants bearing trays of game birds, cooked in butter and garlic, caught that very day. "Let us drink a toast to the Queen's Grace" announced Lord Selwyn. Margaery just caught Ser Richard Horpe's murmur to his neighbour "Which one?". They rose and drank the toast.

The next course arrived. The boar, roasted and jointed, accompanied by apricots, pineapple, and a selection of vegetables. Discussion turned to the coming war in the North. "The Others seem to be a reality" commented Lord Selwyn. "I'd never have believed it, but the Queen and Lord Tyrion do, and neither of them are fools". 

"We discussed them, when we first met. Like everyone else, I thought they were a myth. But then, I thought dragons were a myth, growing up. The world changes," Margaery remarked. 

""It does indeed" commented Ned. "Take the Nights Watch, for example. It's a career now, not a life sentence in a penal colony". It appeared that the rules of the order had changed, as a result of discussions between the Lord Commander, the King in the North, and the Queen. Men would serve for a fixed term of ten years, and then be discharged with a bonus, or else allowed to re-enlist. Thousands of new recruits had joined. Brienne could contain herself no longer, and cut into the conversation. 

"The Queen's Grace showed remarkable generosity in allowing your daughter to inherit Storms End, when she comes of age, Lady Margaery." "Here it comes", she thought. The quarrel as inevitable as being sick after eating a bad oyster. 

"Of course she did, my Lady" she replied. "Far more than I or she had any right to hope for. She is a kind woman. As you yourself have reason to appreciate." Briefly, Daenerys had held Brienne and her father captive, when she captured Tarth, until they pledged fealty to her. 

"Especially, considering your record" Brienne ploughed on, regardless. 

"What do you mean by that, Lady Brienne?" Ned responded, angrily. 

"Please Ned, it's nothing" she caught his arm. 

"No, let's have it out, now!" he replied with asperity. The gathering had fallen silent by this point. 

"We're supposed to believe that Cersei the usurper murdered her own son, Joffrey. Along with sacrificing infants to the Black Goat of Qohor, and all the rest of it. That's the story that your family gave us. But, we know that you were the one responsible, my Lady. And, that you framed the Princess Sansa and Lord Tyrion for it." There was a low murmur of mingled shock and delighted outrage. A few of those present knew the true story. But to most, it was a revelation. 

"Brienne, would you please leave this table" snapped her father.

"No , my lord." Ned stood up, furious. "Lady Brienne, you have insulted Lady Margaery. You will apologise, or you will support your accusations with cold steel.' 

"Ned, please" cried Margaery. She knew of Brienne's reputation as a fighter. The last thing she wanted was for him to be killed in a duel. "I was a party to the death of Joffrey Baratheon. It is true that I allowed the blame to fall on those who were innocent." There was a low gasp around the table. 

"The Queen's Grace knows the truth of the matter" remarked Lord Selwyn. "She has pardoned Lady Margaery. That is an end to it. Brienne, leave." She got up unhappily, and stalked out of the pavilion. "Lady Margaery, I apologise for my daughter's behaviour. She was a little drunk." 

She hadn't been. She just disliked her intensely, but Margaery accepted the excuse. "Apology accepted. We've all said things we don't mean when we drink too much." She wondered how this revelation would affect Ned's opinion of her. Gradually, conversation resumed. She overheard Lord Morrigen commenting "Frankly, anyone who murdered that little shit was performing a public service." His neighbour laughed. 

The meal ended with a round of wafers and hippocras. She thanked Lord Selwyn, and left with Ned. "If we're to marry, I can't have you fighting duels over me. I don't want to be left a widow for a third time. That said, I won't hold it against you if you wish to take back your marriage offer. Joffrey's death was not a pleasant one, but it gave me nothing but satisfaction. His chief pastimes were murder and rape. I do feel bad about Sansa, though. I lost a friend." By way of answer, Ned kissed her passionately. Well, that settled it. A horrible evening, all in all, she thought, as she got ready for bed, but Ned was still head over heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The supper party from hell. We've all experienced them. Brienne has never been noted for tact and diplomacy.


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys retired, giggling, from the Queen's Ballroom, after thanking her guests. Even the High Septon had turned up, eventually, dressed in his robes of office, and accompanied by a troupe of prostitutes, dressed as holy Septons and Septas. He loudly proclaimed that he was convening an All Drunken Synod of the Faith. She knew of the man's occasional visits to an establishment in the Street of Silk, where a Lysene courtesan would don the garb of a Red Priestess, tie him to her bed, hammer a radish or turnip into his rear end, and then flog him mercilessly, before urinating over him. No doubt, wild orgies would soon be taking place in secluded chambers in the Red Keep. She was strongly tempted to take part, but remained mindful of her promises to Jon Snow. He was not a prude, by any means. He was wonderfully gifted with his tongue, as it happened, but he insisted on strict fidelity. He had left her in no doubt of his views when she had once suggested taking another woman into their bed, believing it to be every man's dream; the two of them would pleasure each other, before turning their attention to him.

"Forget that idea, Daenerys. It's disgusting." She had felt a chill then, as he stared at her hard, out of his cold grey eyes. One of the Kings of Winter returned to life. 

She had never raised the subject again. Should she marry him, she wondered? She would like to. On the other hand, every one of her husbands had come to a bad end. Drogo, turned into a vegetable by a witch, who had cursed her with barrenness, for good measure; Hizdahr, brutally murdered the Sons of the Harpy; and Yohn Royce, struck down by Ser Garlan Tyrell. Ser Garlan Tyrell! What ever had happened to the man? Through interviewing eye-witnesses, she had learned that Lady Olenna and Mace Tyrell had taken their own lives before the flames engulfed them, the day the city fell, but no one knew anything of Ser Garlan's fate. That worried her. This was a man of devilish cunning and cruelty. She longed to believe that he had perished in the fire that swept the city, but suspected he had made good his escape. She still had bad dreams about the mummers going up in flames, as Ser Garlan set them alight in her pavilion. She'd give him at least as bad an end as Randyll Tarly if she ever laid hands on him. Thinking of the past reminded her of her loyal friend Grey Worm, and dear, sweet, Missandei, the kindest person she had ever met. Her guilt, at failing to protect her, would never leave her. Her high spirits were now quite evaporated as she descended the Serpentine Steps, accompanied by her guards. She had her private apartments now in the Maidenvault. She took no chances. Guards were stationed at every corner, saluting her as she passed them. The Red Keep remained an armed camp, as it had since the day she took the city. Nothing, she knew, would lessen the inhabitants' hatred for her. After nearly four years, the city had been rebuilt on a lavish scale, in brick and stone, in place of wood. Before long, running water would be provided to the people, for the first time. Tyrion had reconstructed the city's sewers. Food and ale were made available at subsidised rates. None of it made the slightest difference. The inhabitants would never forgive her for the destruction wrought on that awful day, for the death of their boy king, for the imprisonment of their beloved Margaery Tyrell.

She thought again of Margaery, as she approached her bedchamber. She could see no reason not to permit a marriage between her and Ned Dayne, if Margaery sought her consent to it. She would have to vary the terms of her parole, but Tyrion had insisted that she had behaved herself. Princess Ellaria would have to die, obviously, but she wouldn't be at all unhappy about that. Why did she feel guilt over her treatment of Margaery? Tyrion had been right that most rulers would have dealt far more harshly with her. Yet, she had lost her husband, her father, her grandmother. That had to hurt. She was surrounded by people who would gladly see her dead. And Highgarden was beautiful, no doubt about it. To lose the home of one's childhood was desperately sad. Such loss had gnawed away at her brother Viserys, turning him into a cruel and vicious man. But, there was simply no way that she could allow her to return to the Reach. Even if she was completely innocent, the Smallfolk would rebel on her behalf. That is, if her cousin didn't kill her first. 

Her Eastern realms remained quiescent for now. Daario governed Volantis in her name, while Skahaz Mo Kandaq ruled Meereen. They had been taxed heavily to fund her campaign to win the Iron Throne, and to rebuild Kings Landing, but showed no obvious signs of discontent. It helped, certainly, that most of the inhabitants were freed slaves, who remained grateful for their liberation. A growing number of them even worshipped her as a Goddess, an idea that amused her no end. The High Septon, crawler that he was, had even suggested preaching across the realm, that she was the Mother incarnate. She had squashed that idea. Nothing would be more guaranteed to incite a rebellion, across the Reach and the West. She entered her bedchamber. The curtains of her four-poster were drawn back, and suddenly, she longed for sleep. 

"Thank you Senelle" she remarked, as her handmaiden, a ward from a knightly family in the Crownlands, presented her with a linen shift, after she had undressed. She took a cup of wine, laced with sweetsleep, from her. "You may retire to bed now". The woman slept in a smaller bed, in her room. "Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Harlots and the Abominations of Earth", Hallayne's predecessor had called her. She had reminded him of that fact, just before she had him impaled. On that happy note, sleep claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The All Drunken Synod of Fools and Jesters was a drinking club formed by Peter the Great. It was a parody of the Church and angered the devout Orthodox.
> 
> 2\. Skahaz Mo Kandaq "the Shavepate" is a book only character. He was a Meereenese nobleman who defected to Daenerys.


	5. Chapter 5

_There was a knock on the door of her chamber. It was time. Lord Tyrion was present with half a dozen guards. He led her through the Maidenvault, and into the main courtyard, and then to the Great Hall, where she would be beheaded. It was a beautiful day, sunny, with a fresh breeze coming in from the sea. She wanted to savour it for the last time. She climbed the Serpentine Steps and entered the Hall. Daenerys was present, on the Iron Throne, with dozens of courtiers and officials, all dressed sombrely in black, navy, or grey. A scaffold had been set up before the throne, draped in crimson velvet. Ever observant, she noticed that Lord Varys was missing. Surely, the Master of Whisperers should be present for such an occasion?_

__

_As she was led to the scaffold, the headsman knelt before her, asking "Please forgive me Lady Margaery. I do as I must, and bear you no ill will."  
_

_"I forgive you" she replied, handing him a small purse of coins as was customary. She mounted the scaffold and as was expected, she turned to deliver a final speech to the crowd._

__

_"Good people, I have come here to die, for according to the law, and by the Queen's will, I am condemned to die, and therefore I will not speak out against my sentence. it is just. I have come here to accuse no man, nor to dispute the charges for which I have been accused, and condemned to die, but I pray that the Gods may save our dread lady the Queen and send her long to reign over you, for there was never a gentler, nor a more merciful, sovereign. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire that you should all pray for me. May the Father judge me justly, and the may the Mother judge me mercifully, and to the Seven I commend my soul.’_

____

_She knelt and was blindfolded. Even now, she wondered if she would be reprieved. But, there was to be no reprieve. Just a savage, blinding pain, and then, nothing at all._

_____ _

Margaery woke, panting, and bathed in sweat. The same dream, repeated every few months. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. Gods, why did she keep dreaming of her execution? Was it because she thought that one day, the Queen would repent her actions, and put her to death? No, Ned was right. Whatever her faults, Daenerys would not execute her, so long as she abided by the conditions of her parole, as she had done. It was strange in a way. The Queen was certainly no stranger to violence and killing, and few would have blamed her had she put Margaery to death. Her grandmother had been sure that Daenerys lacked the killer instinct, and perhaps there was truth in that. Oh, she'd burned Kings Landing on that terrible day, but only after constant provocation, and as a last resort. Time and again, she pulled her punches. Why couldn't her family have sought peace with the woman? Pure selfish ambition, in the end, an ambition she had once shared. Now, the thought of playing the game of thrones filled her with horror. There were much better things to live for. Her daughter, for one. She thought again of Joanna, golden-haired, and green-eyed. She would grow up to be as beautiful as Cersei but hopefully, a much better person; a much better person than her mother, she prayed, as well. 

The Queen mixed mercy and ruthlessness. Margaery's heart bled for the nobility of her homeland, stripped of their lands and homes, and forced into exile, even the widows and infants of those who had died in the war. That was against all reason and justice. Many of them were friends and relations of hers. Some of their tenants and retainers had opted to leave with them. They had been replaced by outsiders and a handful of ambitious locals, who cared nothing for the Reach and its traditions. The Reach had been the home of culture and chivalry, admired through all the Seven Kingdoms, and now its way of life was being destroyed forever. They had never deserved that. Even the Citadel was not safe; scions of the Reach's nobility and people deemed sympathetic to the old regime, had been dismissed. But yet, she had to admit, the Queen had not left these families destitute; they had been resettled on estates throughout her realms, or if they preferred, granted title to vast lands in the Gift, by the King in the North, Jon Snow. But, like her, they could never return home. She knew her people hated their new overlords. Was she selfish to think only of herself and her daughter? Occasionally, she had thought of making her escape back to Highgarden, and leading her people in revolt. But, she would only lead them to their deaths. It is an ill thing to quarrel with the mistress of three dragons. No, all she could do was pray that one day, a different ruler would let the exiles return. 

Sleep claimed her, again. Yet still she dreamed. Not of execution, this time, but rather of assassins. Of men, stealing into their camp, and killing the guards. Of dark figures, stealing into her pavilion, intent on making an end of her. She wanted to wake, to scream for help, but she could not. Until she did. Too late, she felt an iron hand clamp across her mouth, before the man spoke. "Get dressed. You have a long way to go. One sound, and I'll slit your throat." She felt sick. She realised that Ellaria's agents had caught her at last. She decided to make an end now. Having her throat cut was nothing to what the Dornish witch would do to her. She started to scream, but, the man had anticipated her, giving her a good, hard chop, into her windpipe, that left her gasping, unable to utter a sound. "That was stupid" he remarked. Her arms were grasped behind her, by another, and tied, while the first man deftly thrust a gag into her mouth, before tying it in place. Scarcely able to breathe, she was dragged to her feet, before a blindfold was tied across her eyes. She felt her legs being thrust into her riding boots. "Now move it" commanded the first. "Any trouble you give we'll repay ten-fold." 

_____ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Margaery's final speech is based upon that of Ann Boleyn. Natalie Dormer played both roles.
> 
> 2\. Serfdom does not exist in the Seven Kingdoms. Although huge power is vested in the lords, their tenants are not tied to the land. They can therefore move with their lords, if they wish.
> 
> 3\. Dany's treatment of the Reach might be considered vindictive. That said, she has made efforts to provide for the people she exiled, and there has been nothing like the degree of brutality inflicted by William the Conqueror, Cromwell, or the Duke of Cumberland, in similar circumstances. The Gift is a fertile, but very sparsely populated, region of the North.


	6. Chapter 6

Her two captors dragged Margaery out of the tent, and made off with her fast, dragging her between them. Still choking, she saw stars, and faltered. One of them untied the gag, as she fell to her knees, retching, and gasping for air. After a time, she recovered, and she felt the gag replaced. Their journey resumed. Apart from her boots, she wore nothing but her shift, but the evening was not too cold. She sensed she was being taken deeper into the forest, and that there were other men present. There was no fear like this. Her only worse fear was of what would happen to her when they stopped. She would surely be raped this evening, probably repeatedly, even if they left the torture until she reached Sunspear. As her head cleared, she was increasingly convinced that there must be some means of putting an end to herself. "The road to freedom lies through any vein in the body" was a line she remembered from an old book of philosophy she'd once read in the library at Highgarden. Seven hells, if she had to beat her head off a wall, she'd do it! She wondered what would happen to Joanna; she was surely safe, behind the walls of Storms End. Perhaps the Queen would even avenge her murder. She was after all, a royal prisoner, and kidnapping her was an affront to the Queen's honour; not to mention that many people would assume that Daenerys was behind it, if she failed to act. But, no vengeance would spare her the suffering that was sure to be inflicted on her, should she fail to find a means to take her own life.

She winced, as she felt brambles and thorns tear at her legs. On they drove her, for miles it seemed, lifting her from time to time, when she faltered. She had no idea how long she had been going. There was a different smell in the air now, a strong scent of pine. Being blindfold sharpened her other senses. She heard the hooting of owls, and the crying of foxes. Finally, they came to a halt. "Sit" one of her captors commanded. She complied and braced herself, waiting for the assaults to begin. There was woodsmoke in the air, and she felt the heat of a fire. Then one of them astonished her, by saying "I apologise for all this. It was necessary. " He untied her wrists, and she felt pins and needles, as the blood flowed back. Then he removed the gag, and finally, her blindfold. Sitting, staring at her across the fire, was her brother, Ser Garlan. It was the first time she had seen him, since the fall of the city. 

"You fucking bastard!" she spat. Had she the strength, she'd have lunged at him.

"Hardly the sort of welcome I was expecting on being reunited with my dear sister, after all these years. You, me, and Joanna, are all that remain of our family." 

"Your men hurt me. They frightened the life out of me. I thought I'd been kidnapped by Ellaria Sand." 

"I can see how that would be upsetting. She likes to play with her food, before eating it, by all accounts. As to my men, I don't think you'd have come willingly , if they'd just asked you nicely. By all accounts, you've been a model prisoner. If the Dragon Bitch asked you to tongue her quim, I'm sure you'd get down on your knees, and then thank her for the privilege." 

"Don't be disgusting! My daughter is the future of our House. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure she inherits. Of course, I'm going to stay out of trouble."

"You live in comfort, as our people suffer."

"I have no choice in the matter." They glared at each other for a time, before she asked, " how did you escape?"

"Once Daenerys began burning the city, I fled. There's a tunnel that leads a long way out beyond the city walls, built by Maegor the Cruel. I'm not proud of my actions that day, but I could see the fight would only go one way. I got away to Lys, served as a sellsword for a time. I've been back to the Reach. I've seen what she's done to our people. Now, I'm here. Looking for justice. What about you?" 

"I was betrayed by by own guards, and given to the Queen. She beheaded them. How did you even know I'd be here? "

"The Morrigens. They've no more time for the Dragon Queen than I have." 

"So , why punish me? You say I live in comfort, and that's true. But, I'm a prisoner. I can be executed the moment I break my parole. I was about to be executed, when she reprieved me on the scaffold. And, what do you mean by "looking for justice?" Do you plan to kill me as a traitor?"

"I can see you have a high opinion of your brother. No, I won't kill you. I'll kill her." 

"You're mad. You should have thanked the gods for your escape, and stayed on the other side of the sea. If she catches you, brother, your death will be terrible. " 

"She's not as well-guarded as she thinks she is. Very soon, she'll be in this region, listening to her subjects' petitions. That's when I plan to strike. We'll take down the Imp as well. That little bastard has cumbered the world for long enough."

"And, where do I come into this plan?" 

"You'll proclaim your daughter as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and serve as her Regent. Until then, you'll remain with me, under guard." Out of the frying pan, into the fire she thought. Saved from torture at the hands of Ellaria Sand, only to face certain death at the hands of Daenerys, if she was captured with her brother. There had to be some way of escape, she thought, as she was led away under guard. There had to.


	7. Chapter 7

Troubles come not as single spies but in battalions. Tyrion had ridden from Kings Landing to Hordle, a town located in the Kingswood, with his guards, in order to hear petitions and judge cases. The ride had been pleasant enough, and Daenerys had flown to meet him, a couple of days later. They were staying in the Mayor's house. The Queen had been mobbed by enthusiastic children, eager to meet Drogon. A few of the boldest had even been taken for a flight. She seemed to be enjoying herself, but Oh, what a bore it was for him! The whole neighbourhood was riddled with jealousies and feuds. As far as he could tell, after spending a week in the place, the locals spent most of their time seducing each others' wives, borrowing money they had no intention of repaying, and trying to steal each other's property. And every one of them hoped to enlist the Queen and the her Hand on their side. With the threat of the Others looming ever greater, North of the Wall, there had to be better ways of spending their time than judging small town feuds. 

To cap it all, Lord Selwyn now stood shame-faced before the pair of them in the town's Guildhall, explaining that Margaery Tyrell had either been kidnapped or had escaped. He wasn't sure which was worse. Young Ned Dayne, badly beaten in the raid, had been utterly distressed. He was convinced that Margaery had been seized by Ellaria Martell, and was about to suffer a feast of torture in Sunspear. He urged her to return to the capital, mount Drogon, and reduce the Martells' palace to ashes. Well, if Margaery had been taken there, she'd likely be incinerated along with everybody else if the Queen followed his advice.

"That would hardly save Lady Margaery" Daenerys remarked dryly. "And, Dorne has isolated castles in the deep desert. She could be anywhere." She had however, dispatched a raven to Sunspear , demanding Margaery's immediate release, if Ellaria held her, and warning her that there would be the direst consequences, if she were harmed. He doubted if Ellaria would ever admit to holding her prisoner, though. She had also sent ravens to Megga Tyrell, and other supporters in the Reach, demanding her immediate arrest, should she appear there. He knew that she hated the thought of having to kill Margaery, as an unrepentant traitor. He remembered how she had agonised over the woman's fate, all those years ago, before concluding that she had to die. He was not unduly vindictive, but it had seemed obvious to him at the time that the woman had to be put to death, even if her daughter should be spared; even after learning that she was innocent of regicide, he had proposed confining her to a motherhouse. Privately, he wondered if Daenerys wasn't actually rather in love with Margaery. Even worse, though, was the thought of the poor woman being doomed to weeks of torment in some obscure dungeon in Dorne. The Ullers were no better than wild beasts towards their prisoners. 

She instructed Lord Selwyn to keep searching for Margaery, and told Ned to do nothing rash. She then left with her guards for to return to work on state papers in the Mayor's house. He remained in the Guildhall, to try another case. This one was actually more interesting than the others. 

A group of forest workers were complaining about the labour services imposed upon them by one of the royal bailiffs. They wore rough clothes, but they were clean, and presentable. The bailiff stood to one side, glaring, and darting them filthy looks. 

"Speak before the Lord Hand, Goodman Halleth" commanded the Court clerk to their leader, a blond-haired, bearded man, in his thirties. 

"My Lord" began their leader, knuckling his forehead, "our forefathers were given land in this forest by King Aegon, fifth of his name. In return for this, they agreed to work on the royal lands. It was agreed that twenty days in each year, they would fell trees, and twenty days in each year, they would chop wood. This labour we have performed ever since, with joy in our hearts. Two years ago, a new bailiff was appointed, Master Randle, this man", he nodded at him. "He will not stick to this agreement, but demands we work for three months in each year, on the royal lands. He says we have broken the terms of our ..........indenture, he calls it, and are lucky not to be turned off our land. Alas, none of us can read. But, we know what was agreed by our grandfathers." On the man went, for the best part of an hour, outlining plainly, but clearly, the depradations of Master Randle. The bailiff stared at him superciliously, obviously confident that the Queen's Hand would uphold him. Well, he might have a shock coming his way. But, first, he wanted to hear what the man had to say.

"Thank you, my good man" remarked Tyrion, when Halleth had finished. Be seated." 

"Master Randle. These are grave accusations. What have you to say?" 

"I say they lie. Noblemen romanticise the rustics. They think of them as honest yeomen, plain-speaking, hard-working, the backbone of our armies, retiring of an evening to a well-earned pint or two of ale. Alas, the truth is somewhat different." He spoke at length of rural jealousies, of the difficulty of making the peasants work, of their tricks and deceptions. "Shiftless, self-serving, dishonest, I regret to say" he concluded. Tyrion was not impressed, but he masked his feelings. 

" I believe this dispute is easily resolved. Show me the original indenture". Randle produced a scroll of vellum, duly sealed in scarlet wax, on behalf of the Master of Coin, in the name of Aegon V. Tyrion read it in detail. It did indeed stipulate that the peasants owed three months' labour service in each year. But, Tyrion was familiar with indentures issued by the Crown. 

"This is a crude forgery", he remarked. 

"Not so, my lord! It is the very seal of the King Aegon, Fifth of his name!" 

"It is his privy seal. Indentures sealed by the Crown bear the public seal of the King or Queen. What have you do say about this?" 

"I say that I owe my appointment to the Master of Coin, Lord Baelish. He will not be impressed to learn that the Crown's estates are not exploited as they should be!" 

"The Queen's Grace is currently present in this town, Master Randle. Shall I request her presence? Are you confident that she will prefer your judgment in this matter to mine?"

The man went white, realising the implications. "Of course not, my Lord. Forgive me if I acted with excess zeal."

"You are forgiven. I shall not have you punished as a forger. You know the penalty, I am sure. To be publicly whipped, and exhibited in the pillory three times. But, you are dismissed immediately from the Queen's service. Let it be recorded that the labour service required of Goodman Halleth and his fellows is twenty days in each year felling trees, and twenty spent chopping wood." Randle left the room in a hurry. No doubt he would be complaining to Petyr Baelish before long, but Tyrion felt a glow of satisfaction. Little did he know what awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. By birth, Ellaria is an Uller. They have much the same reputation in Dorne as the Boltons do in the North
> 
> 2\. The medievals went to great lengths to guard against forgery. The use of different seals was one such safeguard. A privy seal is affixed to private correspondence. A public seal to more general documents. An indenture is what we would call a lease.


	8. Chapter 8

Princess Ellaria cried out, as she reached her climax. Jeyne Fowler's head emerged from between her thighs. Jeyne climbed up the bed, before kissing her passionately. "You're adorable" she assured the older woman. "I'm old enough to be her mother" thought the Princess of Dorne, "and still she desires me." It was extremely flattering. Her daughter, Nymeria, was abed with the other Fowler girl, Jennelyn. She and Nymeria took turns with them. Their father, Lord Franklyn, was a traitor, one of the Lords Appellant, as they called themselves, nobles who had protested against her rule. He would have to die of course, and his two lovely daughters with him. A pity. Ideally, she would much prefer to keep them alive, but the execution of the father would render the daughters unreliable. She would at least ensure that their deaths were swift and painless. She owed them that much, in return for the pleasure they had given her. Their father would die more slowly.

Her enemies awaited her downstairs. Opposition to her rule had grown steadily, during the half decade since she disposed of Prince Doran. She had fed dozens to Innocence and Gold Dust. Scores more had died in her dungeons and torture chambers, yet, like the hydra, no sooner did she lop off one head, but two more grew in its place. She had sent Tyene to the Hellholt, to raise fresh soldiers. She would see to the Lords Appellant herself. They were fools to trust her safe conduct to the Water Gardens, the very place where she had killed her the brother of her paramour, Prince Oberyn. Lords Franklyn, Yronwood, Wyl, Lady Sylva Estermont, and two cousins of Prince Doran's, Arianne and Mors were waiting for her in the Pillar Gallery. She had her suspicions of young Ned Dayne too, but he was visiting Lord Selwyn, right now. She would deal with him on his return.

She rose from her bed, kissed Jeyne once more, and went to her bath chamber, where her handmaiden awaited her. The young woman had drawn her bath, and washed her hair. Quite refreshed, she dressed with care, in a black and silver gown, and left her chambers to confront the traitors, accompanied by her bodyguards. She frowned as Maester Darklyn approached her with a scroll. "This arrived from Kings Landing, by raven, this morning" he explained. She read it, as she walked, scowling. It was from the Queen herself. It appeared that Margaery Tyrell had disappeared, and Daenerys had instructed her to release her, if she was holding her prisoner. She had some fine plans in mind for Margaery, should she catch her, but sadly, she was innocent of this. No doubt the wretched woman had tried to escape back to the Reach, in order to raise revolt. "I'll respond later" she instructed her Maester. She inhaled the scent of citrus and cypresses, as she walked the airy corridors of the palace. It was indeed, far more beautiful than Sunspear. 

She turned into the Pillar Gallery, and saw the traitors, seated patiently at a long teak table. They rose and bowed as she entered. She had a score of guards. It would be easy enough to overpower them, if she had to. Not that it would be necessary. "My lords and ladies, please be seated. I understand that you have grievances against my rule. I shall be happy to discuss them with you, but first, perhaps, some wine." She nodded to one of her servants, who left, in order to fetch a flagon. "I trust that you have been made comfortable?" she enquired. 

"Most welcome, your Highness" replied Mors Martell, their leader. He was bald as an egg, bland, faintly menacing. They made small talk for a while, until the servant returned with the wine, and poured for her guests. She took water, flavoured with lemon grass. 

"Your Highness, if I may be plain, we need to discuss the arrangements for your abdication. It is plain that the nobility and small folk alike have lost patience with your rule. I would suggest that you return to your family at the Hellholt, and live out your days in comfort." She laughed. "I believe you are quite mistaken, my Lord. Perhaps you have never heard that it is an ill thing to quarrel with the mistress of an army. Here you are, just the seven of you. And here am I, with a score of guards in this room, and a host of men at my command." 

"You gave us your safe conduct" replied Lord Franklyn, indignantly. 

"Really? We are adults, all of us. You should know how the game is played, I think." 

"You would violate guest-right?" said Lady Sylva indignantly. 

"I would do whatever I need, to retain power." Mors Martell took a long draft of wine, swirling it in his mouth, looking thoughtful. He turned to Lady Arianne, sitting beside him. "Widow's blood, I believe.......". Ellaria saw that the others had left their wine untouched. "Yes, I'm sure of it. The rest of you did well to heed my warning." She felt a sudden chill. He looked back at her, smiling with amusement. "Her Highness could not have chosen a better toxin" he remarked, bland as ever, as if he were addressing a symposium. "It shuts down the bowels, until a man drowns in his own poisons. Death appears to be quite natural." 

"Bad form to poison guests, would you not agree? It's just as well that I am as familiar with poisons as your lovely daughter, Tyene. This is Dorne, after all. I take a mithridate, each morning." 

"Seize them!" Ellaria commanded the captain of her guards. He looked down at her. He looked down at the Lords Appellant. He stared down at them all, for a long minute, before commenting "I believe my men have other duties to attend to." He and his men filed out of the room, leaving Ellaria facing her enemies. 

"I believe those "other duties" include taking your dear daughter Nymeria into custody" remarked Mors. "We have many questions we would like to put to the pair of you, and you both have an appointment with men and women who are skilled at obtaining answers, Lord Franklyn's daughters, in particular. A woman of your experience really should have known better than to take such a pair of vipers into her bed." He smiled at her; blandly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Innocence and Gold Dust are Ellaria's she-bears, to whom she likes to feed her victims.
> 
> 2\. In book canon, the Fowler twins are the lovers of Nymeria Sand. Sylva Santagar was married to Lord Estermont.
> 
> 3\. The name, Lords Appellant, is taken from the lords who protested the rule of Richard II.
> 
> 4\. Supposedly, Mithridates Eupator took poisons in small doses each morning to develop an immunity. Hence, the term "mithridate".


	9. Chapter 9

Margaery cursed, for the hundredth time, as she lay on her camp bed. Stuck with a roving band of outlaws, who dreamed of murdering the Dragon Queen, and restoring the Tyrells and their Bannermen to power. Her brother and his men were mad, of course. They had not the slightest chance of succeeding. But if they did, what then? The idea that the Seven Kingdoms would simply accept Joanna as Queen, without a fight, was for the birds. Most likely, her daughter would have her head dashed against a wall, by some pretender. On no account would she risk Joanna's life. Or her own, for that matter. She was cursed as a kinslayer, she knew. She'd tried to convince herself that she was not responsible for the death of Loras, but she knew that she was only lying to herself. She could have warned the High Sparrow of Cersei's wildfire plot, all those years ago, and saved her brother's life, along with the rest. She had chosen instead, to obey her grandmother, Lady Olenna. And in the process, she had condemned Loras to death. Now she faced the prospect of betraying another brother. In a sense, the earlier betrayal made things easier for her this time around. Having betrayed one brother, there was little to lose by betraying the other. Still, she had loved Loras dearly, for all his faults. She realised that she did not love Garlan at all. The man had had no qualms about putting her in danger with his schemes in the past, and he had no scruples today. As much as her grandmother, he was responsible for the death of poor Tommen. Just as responsible as she was for Tommen's death, she reminded herself. The boy had been innocent and kind, and she'd used him for her own ends, even if she had repented before the end. Another of the sins and crimes that she prayed the Seven would forgive her for. Well, if it came to a choice between Garlan's life and Joanna's, that would be a choice that made itself.

What to do? They had moved camp each day, such was Garlan's concern at being tracked. Although he had told her little of the specifics, she had learned they were a short distance from a town called Hordle, where the Queen was currently staying, administering justice with her Hand, Lord Tyrion. Margaery was not exactly a prisoner, but nor was she free to come and go as she pleased. Her brother plainly distrusted her, albeit, it would not occur to him that she would actively betray his plot. The more she thought about her situation, the more she realised that she had to make a break for freedom. She had weighed up the options, in her mind. If she simply stayed with the outlaws, then win or lose, her prospects were poor. If they succeeded in killing Daenerys, well, almost certainly dire retribution would follow, from some quarter. Death by the sword was the least she could expect; in all likelihood, her fate would be a good deal worse. Sansa and Ellaria would doubtless make their own bids for power, while the Unsullied and Dothraki would want vengeance, and if she fell into any of their hands, her dying would be terrible. If her brother failed, and she was found among them, then ,for certain, the Queen would show her no mercy. She would go to the block. No, the more she thought about it, the more she realised that her safest course was to escape, and warn Daenerys of the threat. Even if she died in the attempt, it was no worse than what likely awaited her, in any case.

She heard the camp stirring, and put on her boots. She wore hunting clothes, breeches and a leather jerkin. She got up to see what was happening. It was early morning. The day was chill, but clear. A fire was lit, and broth was being boiled in an iron pot, suspended above it. Her stomach rumbled, but she lost any desire to eat when one of the men unbuttoned his breeches, and pissed long and hard into the fire. Still, it suddenly gave her an idea. Her brother approached her. "We're leaving now, but you'll stay here". "Keep Lady Margaery safe" he told one of the guards, before setting off with most of the rest into the woods, leaving just a handful at the camp. She sighed and returned to her tent, her heart beating. It really was now or never. Unlike the guards, she preferred to use a chamber pot, which was currently half full. She picked it up and gave a sudden shriek, crying "help me!" Her guard ran in, only for her to dash the contents of the pot in his face. He retched, and sought to wipe the filth from his eyes, giving her the chance to clout him over the head with it. He fell to his knees, and a second blow knocked him out cold. Dead or unconscious, she really didn't care. She knelt down, and removed the man's dagger. Then she set to work, cutting a rent in the cloth of her tent. Cautiously, she slipped out through the gap. She peered back into the camp. Fortunately, none of the other outlaws had taken any notice. Hurriedly, she slipped away into the woods. She was no expert tracker, but she had hunted in woodlands ever since she was a girl, and was confident she would not get lost. She had a rough idea where Hordle lay, and the position of the Sun would give her an idea of the direction she was headed in. After a few minutes, she struck a forest path, which led in the direction she sought, and followed it cautiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. At the start of Storm from the East, it was revealed that Margaery knew about Cersei's wildfire plot in advance. Lady Olenna and Ser Garlan saw this as a golden opportunity to take out their enemies, and so they allowed Cersei to carry out the plot, notwithstanding that Ser Loras would die. 
> 
> 2.Margaery of course has no idea that Ellaria has been overthrown, nor is she aware that Sansa has been living quietly, after recovering from her breakdown at Kings Landing.


	10. Chapter 10

Ser Garlan was full of excitement. The Bitch would die today, along with her Imp. He had thirty men with him, as they reached the outskirts of Hordle. They looked just like any other foresters, and of course, there were plenty of reasons for a forester to be armed. But, such a large number of men together would excite suspicion. They had to split up. He divided them up into groups of three or four. Several, armed with small crossbows, had orders to shoot the Queen on her way to the Guildhall. The rest had orders to converge, gradually, on the Guildhall, where the cases and petitions would be heard. The latter would join the crowds, and then attack, when he gave the signal, if she'd survived the journey. It was still too early, so he and this three companions made for the nearest tavern, where they would break their fast. These were good men, a Hightower, a Florent, and and Ambrose. Gods, they had much to avenge on the woman. A pity they couldn't give her the same death that she had given to Lord Tarly, but needs must. 

He entered the tavern, The Floating Log. "I want bread, cheese, and ale for the three of us" he instructed the Innkeep. Serving with sellswords, he'd learned how to adopt the accents of the Smallfolk. He handed the man a silver stag. 

"It's not the Dragon Queen I hate so much" said Jon Ambrose, quietly. "It's your cousin Megga. She turned traitor. My family are freezing in the far North, while she grows fat at Highgarden." 

"Her dying will be slow, I promise you that much" Garlan replied. "Most of the Smallfolk hate her anyway. I might just hand her over to them." The others grinned. Their meal arrived, and they continued talking softly, as they waited for their moment. 

Margaery jogged along the forest path. Far off, through the trees, she saw woodsmoke, and guessed she was reaching the town. She slowed to a walk, regaining her breath, and gathering her thoughts. She had to find out where the Queen or Lord Tyrion were staying. Otherwise, she could be wandering for hours. Even then, her heart was in her mouth. The Queen's guards might just cut her down on the spot. Or her brother would, if he spotted her. He'd realise she had betrayed him, if he found her. Nor could she blame him, really. She was sentencing her brother to a terrible death, if she found Daenerys or Tyrion. What was it about the Seven Kingdoms that caused every great house, Targaryens, Tyrells, Baratheons, Martells, Lannisters, to turn savagely, not just on each other, but on their own family members? So successful had the families been at destroying themselves and each other, that her daughter was left as heir to three great houses. _We have so much, yet still we insist on fouling our own nests._

She reached the outskirts of the town, and saw a blacksmith shoeing a horse, at his smithy. "The Queen's Grace, where is she staying?" 

"The Mayor's house. She's hearing cases in the Guildhall, with the Imp." he replied, pointing in the direction. Then, he frowned. "You're highborn, why would you need to see her? " "Long story" she replied before running off. She crossed the bridge over the Shitbrook, which ran through the town, reaching the main square.. 

"And just where do you think you're going?" snarled a passing woodsman, grabbing her by the hair. She spun round, recognising one of her brother's men. "Bitch, I told Ser he should have gutted you." Without hesitation, she drove her knee hard into his balls, screaming for help. He gasped in pain, but would not let go. Two more of the outlaws ran up, grabbing her arms, and dragging her towards an alley. But, by then, a small crowd had gathered. Some laughed, others called for help, a couple even attacked her assailants. Her first attacker, drew his knife, planning to make an end, only to scream as a sword sliced through his arm, wielded by an officer of Unsullied. He had half a dozen men with him, who quickly disarmed the other two outlaws, even as the first writhed on the ground. 

"What is this?" called a familiar voice. "Lady Margaery Tyrell! Where have you been?" he remarked, astonished. It was Lord Tyrion. 

"The Queen, she's in danger. My brother and his men plan to murder her!" she cried. More guards came up, "Take Lady Margaery to the Guildhall" the Imp commanded. "And raise the hue and cry!" 

Some hours later, Margaery entered the Queen's chamber, and curtsied to her. She noticed that she looked considerably older than she had, the last time they met. There were lines in her face that had not been there before, and crows' feet around her eyes. No doubt, ruling took its toll. "It seems I'm in your debt, Lady Margaery" remarked Daenerys. The Queen rose, and poured wine for them both, giving her a goblet. "The very least I can do is reverse your sentence of attainder. I shall gift you lands at Summerhall. I can't let you return to the Reach, I'm afraid, but other than that, you are free to travel as you wish, and live where you please. You are free to marry the young lord of Starfall, should you desire. I have a feeling that a change of government in Dorne is imminent.

__

"Your Grace, thank you. " Then, "Will you let any of the exiles return, even if you can't let me do so? You could let them give you oaths of fealty".

__

"I'm sorry, no, I cannot. I can't run the risk of rebellion. I know it's cruel to lose one's home; no one knows that better than I do, but the danger is just too great. I've done my best to provide for them, in exile, you may be sure of that. As has the King in the North." She fell silent for a while. Then, "Lady Margaery, you have every reason to hate me. Why did you risk your own life on my behalf?" 

"Believe me or not, your Grace, but I don't hate you. I hate the memory of the morning I was to be executed. It still gives me nightmares. But, I know most rulers in your place would either still have killed me, or at least, confined me to the Maidenvault or a Motherhouse, for the rest of my life. My own captivity has been far more comfortable than that, and I remain a part of my daughter's life. I'm grateful . However, hatred doesn't come into it. Nor gratitude for that matter. May I be entirely frank?" 

__

"You may." 

__

"I did what I did, because the alternatives were worse. Warning you was my safest course."

__

"Thank you for your candour. " She fell silent again, before saying "I'm afraid your brother died, resisting arrest. I believe that most of his men were killed or captured. My men are scouring the district for them." 

__

"You could never have spared him." 

__

"No, I couldn't. I could never forgive what he did at the parley. Or the death of Lady Missandei. He was a fool. You aren't. You and your daughter are the last of your line. Make sure you keep her safe. " 

__

Margaery rose, curtsied again, and left the room. They would only meet once again, when she gave the Queen homage for her new estates. Six months later, she married Ned Dayne. She would bear him two children that lived, and she died in her sixtieth year. She outlived her second husband, and took holy orders after his death, spending her last years in a Motherhouse in Kings Landing. Joanna would grow up to marry Prince Rhaegar, the younger of the twins that Daenerys bore to Jon Snow, before she disappeared, at the end of the War for the Dawn. 

But, that is a tale for another time. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Floating Log is taken from the inn at Frogmorton, in the Lord of the Rings, but seemed apt for a town that lives on trading in wood.
> 
> 2\. The "hue and cry" is a command for all able-bodied male inhabitants to apprehend criminals.


End file.
